I was five when the snow came.
“Come look outside!” my mother said.
Sleepy eyed, I stumbled to the kitchen,
Opened the door.

The world had changed!
Heaven come to earth.
The plainest things
Now objects of great beauty.

Crazily, I ran to join the magic,
Stopped in the middle of the yard
To take it all in
And let myself be taken.

But all beauty is not kind.
The cold was now seeping
Into my bare feet,
Fluttering through my thin pajamas.

“Come in” my mother called.
“I can’t.”
I believed this to be true,
Though now I can’t say why.

No logic could convince me
I was still able
To make those few short steps
Back onto our porch.


I was seventeen when I met her.
“You can come inside” she said.
Awkwardly I fumbled
Into the shelter we made for each other.

The world had changed!
Heaven come to earth.
The plainest things
Now objects of great beauty.

We ran to join the magic,
Played at house and lovers,
Young, foolish and happy,
Beautiful and blind,

But all beauty is not kind,
The cold was seeping
Stealthily
Into our daily lives.

“Come back.” she said.
I really believed I couldn’t.
Much easier doing nothing
Than taking any risk.
  

I was sixty when Death came,
Forced me to look with open eyes
Into the deep abyss
Where one must fall or fly.

The world had changed!
Heaven come to earth.
The plainest things
Now objects of great beauty.

He bade me come and join the magic,
Make the world my lover,
Take it all in
And let myself be taken.

But all beauty is not kind.
The cold was again seeping
Into my bare feet
Fluttering through my thin pajamas.

“Come in.” He called
“I can’t.”
I really felt this to be true
Though now I can’t say why.

No logic could convince me
I was still able
To take those first few steps
Away from my back porch.